


kiss me after

by fixedstars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn-masquerade, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Post-Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, Prompt Fill, Sampala - Freeform, kind of, lbr this is mostly about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fixedstars/pseuds/fixedstars
Summary: Sam is miserable after Gabriel leaves him as a car and Dean offers to wash him.





	kiss me after

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: _Gabriel let Sam as an Impala for longer than Changing Channels. Sam discovers he really enjoys car washes, but Dean worries about it messing up the paint, so he reluctantly offers to do it himself. He's surprised at how much it turns him on._
> 
> Written for SPN Masquerade Round 5: The Dance of Debauchery

When they're driving, it's not actually so different now that is brother is a car. Okay, obviously it's freakin’  _weird_  that he's sitting  _inside_  of his brother, so to speak, but in terms of conversation, the sense of companionship? That's the same. And Sam still criticizes Dean’s music taste, although now he's got the ability to spit out the tapes, which he finds hilarious.   
  
“I’m not listening to the Black Eyed Peas again, Sam!” Dean yells when Sam changes the radio station without warning and Dean nearly veers off the road. “And no more Kelly Clarkson.”  
  
Sam settles for OneRepublic. Maybe this is still part of the illusion. Either way, Gabriel’s a fucking dick and Dean can’t wait to run him through.   
  
But even if Sam’s still Sam, it’s weird leaving him in a motel parking lot at night. Dean hovers his hand above the Impala’s — Sam’s — hood but doesn’t touch.   
  
“Uh...night. See you in the morning.”   
  
He can hear Sam’s sighing in Room 9, a single, even after the door closes.

* * *

Sam's coughing the next morning when Dean starts his engine.   
  
“Something wrong?” he asks. His mouth tastes like the burned coffee from the motel office he downed when he returned the key, and he’s running on a mental half tank. He spent most of the night tossing.  
  
Sam coughs again. “I feel like I inhaled everything between here and the last motel.”  
  
“Better get used to it.”  
  
“Find a car wash.”  
  
“No way,” Dean says. “I’m not messing up the paint just because you’re a little uncomfortable.”  
  
“A little? I’m a  _car_ , Dean. I don't have legs. I feel like the entire world is staring at my ass.”  
  
“It's a nice ass,” Dean says, trying to be helpful, and Sam cranks the volume.  
  
Rather than suffer the inevitable fight, Dean detours to an auto shop for a bucket and sponge and soap, and then they cruise through a residential neighborhood looking for a house with nobody home. They find one surrounded by a chain-link fence, overgrown grass and a pile of newspapers in the front yard. There's a garden hose coil like a sleeping snake in a garden that hasn't been weeded all year. There's no garage and no car in sight.   
  
“Bingo,” Dean says and swings them into the cracked driveway.   
  
“What are you doing?” Sam says in a tone that indicates he knows exactly what they're doing and disapproves of it.   
  
“Private car wash.”  
  
“Dean, this is someone's  _home_.”  
  
“Hope they've been paying their electric.”  
  
He hops out and tests the hose. The water comes out iron red and warm. He lets it run until it's clear and aims the stream at Sam’s tires.  
  
“I should let you cool down first, but…”  
  
“Hey, that’s cold!”  
  
“Beggars can't be choosers, Sammy. You want to get clean or what?”  
  
“I don't see what's wrong with a car wash.”  
  
“You think those things are heated?” Dean says.   
  
“What if someone sees us?”  
  
“How many thieves borrow a garden hose? Anyway, you know how many other cars the brushes in those car washes have touched? If not like they sanitize them after each car.”  
  
Sam sighs for a good ten seconds. “ _Fine._  Just make it fast.”  
  
Dean fills the bucket with water and sloshes it across the hood, applying the soap in wide sweeps.   
  
“This feels weird,” Sam says.  
  
“Shut your mouth. This soap cost me ten bucks.”

Dean’s washed this car a hundred times. He knows every inch of it, but it's different today. This isn't his dad's Impala anymore. He feels the slightest bit guilty for the pleasure he gets running his fingertips across the wet hood. But any guilt he feels evaporates when he hears a soft noise from Sam's speakers.  
  
“You’re such a pervert,” Dean mutters and he laughs into the morning sun.   
  
“Shut up. I know how bizarre this is.” Sam’s voice is a little husky.   
  
Dean touches him again. “Can you even get off like this?”  
  
“It’s not like I have a dick right now, Dean.”  
  
“Can’t you just...I don’t know. Blow it out your exhaust pipe?”  
  
Sam starts his engine and kicks up gravel reversing out of the driveway. He doesn’t even have a face but Dean knows he’s shooting him death glares out the headlights.   
  
“I’m sorry, alright?” Dean calls after him, aiming the hose into a hedge. “Hey, don’t you leave me here. You might be able to drive by yourself, but how are you gonna refuel, huh?”  
  
That does it. Sam idles next to the mailbox for a minute, then slinks back up the drive.   
  
“No more jokes,” he says.   
  
“You’d laugh if this happened to me. Admit it.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe at first, it would be funny, but it’s been two weeks. This isn’t funny anymore, Dean. I’m starting to wonder if I’m gonna spend the rest of my life like this.”  
  
Dean lays his hand on the warm hood.  
  
“Sammy…” His throat tightens. He’s rarely felt so helpless. “We’re gonna figure this out. But if — and that’s a big _if_ — you're stuck like this, I'll take care of you. You know that.”  
  
Sam sighs. “At least I’m not the one getting turned on by a car.”  
  
“I’m not getting turned on by a car; I’m getting turned on by  _you_. And...okay, granted you  _are_  a car right now, but…you’re still Sam.”  
  
Sam’s quiet for a minute. “Sorry I spit out your tapes.”  
  
“No you’re not.”  
  
“You’re right, I’m not.”   
  
They both laugh for a while. It’s comfortable. Dean washes Sam’s exterior and rinses him clean.   
  
“How was it?” he says, patting his trunk.  
  
“Your hands still feel good.”  
  
Dean’s heart breaks a little. He strokes the black paint the way he might stroke Sam’s hair if he were still human.   
  
“You can get off, if you want,” Sam says quietly. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Dean swallows and does a quick recon on the road. The driveway’s blocked by hedges on the property line and there’s an empty field directly across the street. If he opens the trunk, no one should be able to see him. He pops it open and unzips his jeans, bending over to place a hand on Sam’s gray carpet.   
  
“Can you feel that?” he asks.  
  
“Yes. Are you touching yourself?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They don’t talk. Dean’s moans are caught by the wind. He digs his nails into the carpet when he comes, and Sam’s brake lights go red and then liquid. Dean wipes his eyes and fists a hand into his t-shirt like it’ll stop the ache in his heart. If Sam hears him crying, he says nothing. Dean cleans himself with the hose, then shuts the trunk and presses a long kiss to the paint.   
  
“You never kiss me after,” Sam says as Dean gets into the car. He pops in a cassette, then thinks better of it and leaves the radio off.   
  
“Yeah, well.” He wraps his hand around steering wheel as the engine starts. “Maybe I ought to start.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to get in touch, try [this twitter](https://twitter.com/_fixedstars_)


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